Love Ire and Song
by I'm A Cuckoo
Summary: Sometimes, the song says everything for you. [Lizzie Bennet Diaries]
1. Keep Your Head Up

Anything you recognise is the property of Jane Austen, Hank Green and Bernie Su. The title, _Love Ire and Song_, is taken from Frank Turner's album of the same name. All lyrics have been credited. No infringement intended.

* * *

_I tried my best to embrace the darkness in which I swim - _Ben Howard, 'Keep Your Head Up'

* * *

Forty seven days, nineteen hours, seven minutes exactly.

Some days, he struggles to believe he even did it. It just doesn't make sense. He's calm and measured and controlled and _definitely not impulsive_. And she was wild and uncontainable and impossible and everything that needed more than he could offer her.

_Is. _Not _was_ at all.

He remembers now some nonsense Fitz had spouted to Gigi. Something about breaking up with someone being similar to grieving for someone because suddenly that person can't exist for you anymore. He remembers biting back a sigh at that piece of psychobabble.

And now he wishes more than anything that he was still that cynical. He's not.

She opened his eyes to how world weary he was. He can't shut out those truths she forced upon him. All he can do is deal with them. Without her. Without even the possibility of her.

* * *

Some days, he struggles to find the motivation to bother. He got on fine before her, after all. He had Gigi and Fitz and Bing. He had Aunt Catherine. He had Caroline, and Reynolds and the members of the board, and the guys at his biking club and his old college friends. They didn't care that he was sometimes a little more brusque than necessary; if anything they understood why.

So he'll sink back into familiarity again. He'll watch from the edge of the room, he'll listen and not contribute, he'll argue and antagonise. And then her voice will sound from the depths of his mind and he'll close his eyes briefly and when he opens them, he'll see himself as she sees him and feel sickeningly disappointed that he's failing at something.

* * *

Some days are less of a struggle. Conversation comes a little easier. Smiling doesn't feel so forced. He meets with Gigi and Fitz, he speaks to Bing, he helps ambitious go-getters overflowing with optimism get started in the industry; he almost feels good about himself. He imagines where he'd be if only he'd been like this at the Gibson wedding. He stops those daydreams pretty quickly. What's the point in what ifs?

* * *

Some days, he struggles to press play on those clips she uploads. Because some days he knows, he just knows, that she's never going to see the changes he's made for her.

But he just can't resign himself to that impenetrable certainty yet.

* * *

_Keep your head up, keep your heart strong.  
Keep your mind set in your ways.  
Keep your heart strong - _Ben Howard, 'Keep Your Head Up'


	2. A Love Like This

_The sun will stop shining soon  
And you'll be gone from my life  
Yeah, you'll be gone, it's as simple as a change of heart – _Kodaline, 'A Love Like This'

* * *

She grasps his hand and pulls. He follows, naturally. Before he knows it, they've bought a bag of pretzels and Lizzie is dragging him along, racing another couple to the free bench facing the pond in the park.

They win.

She sits down calmly, and he can't quite control the chuckle that erupts as he sits next to her. She turns to him, eyes laughing, trying not to look smug, unable to resist glancing over at the couple who are now nonchalant, strolling aimlessly past.

'Haha!' she nudges his upper arm with her head. 'Victory!'

He looks down at her, an affectionate smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Her eyes flick upwards to his face.

'You're mocking me!' she says, her face alight with mischief and something he thinks could be joy.

'No,' he shakes his head, glancing down at their interlocked hands. 'I'm delighted, astonished, bemused. Not mocking.'

She purses her lips in a way that makes it so hard for him not to lean down and kiss her. She knows. She knows enough of him now to recognise that expression on his face. He trails his thumb along her knuckles and she sighs. She pulls his arm up, hands still joined, until it rises over her body, rests on her hip and nestles her into his side. Her head falls onto his arm and he sits there, quietly content, enjoying the moment.

* * *

He's stuck in traffic when the tiny glint of metal catches his eye. There in the drink holder is a hair tie.

He picks it up, slips a couple of fingers into it and absently rotates it, watching the spark of sunlight reflect in his car.

She isn't here to stop him so he lets his thoughts take a decidedly pretentious route. This hair tie, he decides, is a metaphor for her, for her importance; for them.

The spark that occasionally makes him close his eyes in a half squint, the comfortable familiarity of her surrounding him, the way she is slowly blending them together.

An appealing thought flits into his mind as he rubs the fabric in a vague sort of way. What else has he missed? Does she have a tub of hair ties somewhere in his bathroom? Has she left her comb on his dressing table? Has it been so natural, so inevitable that he failed to notice these significantly insignificant moments that tell him in the most persuasive of ways that she's staying?

Suddenly, impatience makes him drop the tie back into the cup holder and drum his fingers on the steering wheel. Suddenly, nothing is more important than getting back home and examining the contents of his medicine cupboard to see what toiletries have made his bathroom their permanent home.

And suddenly, an overwhelming sense of loss envelopes him. Because suddenly, he can't do without this hair tie in his car. He can't give up the comb that may or may not have been left haphazardly on his dressing table. He needs her face wash and her nail varnish remover to take up too much space in his medicine cupboard.

If his past has taught him anything, it's that life does not give William Darcy the things he wants easily. That, and love like this doesn't always last.

The driver behind him leans on the horn viciously and he is jolted back to the freeway. He engages the car into drive and moves off, giving a conspicuous little wave of apology in his rear view mirror.

When he pulls up onto the driveway, he retrieves the hair tie and slips it into his pocket.

* * *

Saturday morning, a couple of months later, he wakes up alone. Lizzie has gone already. She'd woken him with a lingering kiss that had led to his hand getting caught up in the tangles of her hair while her hand trailed down his chest. She'd broken free, biting her lip and whispering something about meeting Gigi for a morning workout before leaning down once more to catch his bottom lip between hers, an enticing promise for later.

He's been at a loose end since; read a few reports, replied to some emails, made a salad for their lunch. He's just settled down on the sofa with a book when the buzzer sounds.

_Lizzie's forgotten the code_, he thinks as he makes his way to the intercom.

'Darcy,' he says in his sternest voice. He's practising this teasing thing. She tells him he's getting pretty good. He tells her she's a rubbish liar.

'Package for Bennet,' a man's voice says through the intercom.

This throws him.

'S-sorry?'

'I have a package that needs delivering to Ms E Bennet,' the man says, slower this time. 'This is the correct address right? This is what was submitted with the order.'

'Yes.' He runs his hand through his hair. 'Yes, this is the correct address. I'll come down.'

He tries to stay calm as he descends the stairs. So she put his address down instead of her own. Maybe she knew she wouldn't be in her apartment. Maybe it's something she'd ordered on Gigi's behalf. _Maybe she doesn't see any issues having things sent to your home without telling you_. _Maybe these things are so normal to her they aren't even worth the time it'd take to mention them._

He has never felt such a thrill when signing per procurationem before. He thanks the delivery man, picks up the small box and heads back to the lounge.

**You have a package** he texts her once he's positioned the box on the coffee table.

**Excellent! I've been waiting for those books for so long! Get the coffee on, I'll be home in 30 mins x**

He never thought Amazon would have such romantic connotations.

* * *

_Maybe it was just as simple as a change in your heart – _Kodaline, 'A Love Like This'


	3. Below My Feet

_And I was still  
I was under your spell  
Just give me time_  
_You know your desires and mine_  
_So wrap my flesh in ivy and in twine_  
_For I must be well _ – Mumford & Sons, 'Below My Feet'

* * *

'I can't believe that just happened!' She tugs her car keys out of her bag and unlocks the vehicle with a vicious jab of her thumb. '_What was that?_'

He follows her dutifully, slides into the passenger seat and reaches up to turn the in-car light on. She glares unremittingly at him and he meets her eyes steadily.

'What was what, Lizzie? I don't know what you're talking about.'

'You don't kn- You don't- _You don't know what I'm talking about?_' she finally spits out. She turns away from him and fumbles with the ignition. She seems to be forcing herself not to speak.

The engine catches, her hand stretches up to hit the button that will plunge him into darkness and she reverses off her parents' driveway and heads back towards Netherfield.

Silently.

He doesn't mind this particular silence. It gives him the most welcome opportunity of replaying the evening in his mind.

The Bennets had arranged a dinner party to celebrate the completion of Lizzie's post-grad, and Mrs Bennet being Mrs Bennet, this dinner party hadn't done anything by halves. Jane and Bing had come back for the weekend, and since Caroline had come back to Netherfield to see her brother, Mrs Bennet had insisted she join them for dinner.

Five Bennets, two Lees and one Darcy had led to a lively and agreeable evening from his perspective. He had taken great pains to speak with Lizzie's father and had found in him a witty and entertaining man who could converse on a range of subjects. He had planted the seeds of a reunion weekend in New York in Bing's mind, and had thoroughly enjoyed watching Lizzie with her sisters. He'd even managed to have a conversation with Caroline that had less than ten awkward pauses before she'd left early claiming a headache. Which was more of a relief than he'd care to admit since she was distracting him from identifying the exact shade of red Lizzie's hair took on when it was caught in the light from the table lamp.

All in all, in William Darcy's (admittedly limited) experience of evenings based around conversations, he thought he'd performed admirably.

He'd forgotten Lizzie seemed to hold him to a higher standard.

She's pulled up behind Caroline's convertible and switched off the engine before he realises where they are. She unbuckles her seatbelt and her hand is on the handle when he wraps his hand around her wrist.

'Lizzie.'

She pulls her wrist free. 'I don't think so.'

'Lizzie, if you think I'm going to have this argument in a house that has ears you're going to be disappointed.'

She sighs and lets go of the door handle, settles back into the driver's seat.

He regards her for a long moment. 'I thought tonight went well. But then I've learnt that what I think doesn't always ring true with the rest of the world.' He attempts a small smile here and is greeted with stony indifference. He sighs. 'Lizzie. What did I do?'

She shakes her head in disbelief. 'You honestly don't know? My God, is rudeness so ingrained in you that you don't even know when you act like a douche?'

He pales now and looks down at his hands as they fidget on his lap.

'Please don't say things we can't take back,' he says lowly.

'Ha!' The derisive snort rips away from her as though she couldn't hold it in anymore. 'And where was that insightful piece of crap when you were speaking to Caroline?'

He isn't sure he can look up just yet, but he flinches at her tone anyway. 'What?'

'Don't, William, just don't. If ever you were the _Darcy_ I thought I'd met in the fall, it was tonight.'

He looks up then and meets her angry stare. 'If you want to fire cruel accusations and immature insults at me, fine, I'll leave you to it. If you want an apology from me for whatever it is I've done tonight, you'd be much better off if you told me what I did.'

He breathes heavily. Looks down again. He can't remember the last time he spoke to a woman like that. He almost opens his mouth to apologise when he remembers they're fighting, and she's hardly speaking calmly and respectfully to him.

She scoffs. He doesn't rise to the bait this time.

Eventually she breaks.

'You and Caroline were all cosy in the corner. She was sounding off about the twee traditions of backwater towns and what constitutes as a 'dinner party' in these parts and _you just laughed_. Lydia could hear you when she went to move Kitty off the arm chair. Of all the selfish, disdainful-'

'Stop.'

She stops, chest heaving, eyes sparking fire, lips pursed.

He looks at her. Really looks. The similarities between right now and _back then_ are too startlingly accurate for him to process.

'It seems to me like you've just been waiting for me to trip up over something like this for a while,' he says quietly.

She opens her mouth to interrupt but he talks over her as though he hasn't noticed.

'I wasn't listening to Caroline. I was listening to you. You and your dad. I'd heard him mention my name and I was nervous. I wanted to know if I'd made a good impression. I wanted to know whether he thought I was good enough for you. He'd just told you I was decent enough and I laughed.'

She closes her mouth. He pretends he hasn't noticed.

'Let's go in.' He can hardly hear his voice over the blood rushing in his head.

He opens his door and moves round the car to open hers. They walk up to the front door in silence. Several times she glances up at him as though to say something but he doesn't engage.

As they enter the house, she leans into him but he takes advantage of the bulky deadlock on the door and in due course, when he feels ready to face her, he feels as though he's finally getting a glimpse of how she might have looked after their last disastrous argument.

'We're both tired,' she whispers, her eyes round and anxious.

He nods and she mimics him in reluctant relief before she walks towards the stairs.

'Goodnight, Lizzie.'

She turns back. He's still stood by the front door, his fingers fiddling with the key but his gaze fixed on her.

She flushes. 'Aren't you- aren't you coming up?'

He looks at his shoes. His body turns towards the kitchen before his mind can reach a decision.

'Goodnight, Lizzie.'

He drops the door key in the bowl on the side table and disappears down the dark corridor.

She sniffs and rubs her eyes desperately.

* * *

_Keep the earth below my feet  
For all my sweat, my blood runs weak  
Let me learn from where I have been  
Oh keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn _– Mumford & Sons, 'Below My Feet'


	4. Ordinary People

_We've both still got room left to grow – _John Legend, 'Ordinary People'

* * *

He isn't sure how long he sits in the kitchen. There is a whisper of dawn in the air when he finally becomes aware of his surroundings again. He rubs a tired hand over his tired face. His stubble prickles uncomfortably and as he sighs, the smell of coffee lingers around him. He pushes off the stool he's been slumped on and heads to the door.

The key to the front door is still in the bowl. As quietly as he can, he lets himself out and locks the door behind him again; it's too early for anyone else to be awake.

He sets off on foot. He makes his way down the long driveway towards the road, breathing deeply as he goes. He stretches a hand out and lets the overhanging branches scrape his palm. He entertains the vague thought of suggesting that Bing employ a gardener or a landscaper to maintain the grounds while he's in New York. He rifles through contacts in his mind, finally settling on the undisputable fact that recommending a gardener that was never requested counts as interfering in Bing's life and if he wants his driveway to look unkempt and if he wants the branches to scratch the paintwork on his car and if he wants a garden he can't sit out in, then it's up to Bing and he, Darcy, won't do a damn thing about it.

This thread takes his as far as the park. He can't help but feel slightly unsettled by the idea that he made it this far on autopilot.

Nevertheless, he's here now and here is as good a place as any. He finds a bench and sits down and thinks.

He thinks about last fall.  
He thinks about the videos.  
He thinks about the Bennets.  
He thinks about the Darcys and the de Bourghs.  
He thinks that the Bennets of the world were never that different from the Darcys and the de Bourghs of the world.  
He thinks that he would have never reached that conclusion last fall.  
He thinks about all the changes he's made for Lizzie.  
He thinks about the idea that you shouldn't have to change to be loved and he wonders if this idea has any merit.  
He thinks about Lizzie; he considers the changes he's made from her point of view and wonders whether he'd trust such radical differences in such a short space of time.  
He thinks that, when all is said and done, he deserves a better demonstration of trust from the one person who said she trusts him above all others.

The edges of the sun brighten, no longer the smudged streaks of pale yellow that broke up the sky when he first sat down.

He thinks it's time to go back.

He purposefully doesn't think of anything during the walk back. His thoughts have a definite order now, and he knows what he needs to say when he sees her.

The door is unlocked when he tries the handle. He drops the key back into the bowl and makes his way into the kitchen. She is slumped on the stool he had been slumped on earlier. He clears his throat and her head snaps up. The legs screech against the tiles as she pushes away from the counter and stands, uncertain and timid.

'William,' she breathes. 'God. Thank God. I... I came down and you'd gone. I thought... I don't know what I thought.'

'You thought I'd gone?' His voice is too stilted, too much of a giveaway, too much of an insight into his roiling emotions.

'What was I supposed to think?' she asks, defeated.

'That you'd hurt my feelings last night?'

He can see the effect of his suggestion on her countenance. She looks down. Her hands grip at each other and a dark spot appears on her pyjama top. She sniffles.

'Lizzie,' he sighs.

He moves to her, gathers her into his arms and now her hands are gripping his shirt and her face is buried in his chest right by his heart. His cheek rests on her hair. She shudders as another sob leaves her.

'Lizzie, _I _can't give up that easily. I want to work this out.'

He feels her nuzzle his shirt, her hands turn from fists pulling him towards her into open palms that tickle and caress his back.

'I want to work out why you still think of me as Darcy when I've been trying so hard to be William. I want to work out how often you have those thoughts and how often you voice those opinions. I want to work out if we can move past this.'

She nods, pulls back so he can see her face. She pushes her hair away from her face and wipes her eyes ineffectually with the sleeve of her pyjama top. Once finished, she takes him by the hand and leads him to the guest room they've been assigned. He sits on the chair by the dressing table while she shuts the door firmly.

* * *

'William.' Gigi sounds overly anxious for a social call. 'William, are you OK? Is Lizzie? What's going on? She called me, like, six times before 8am.'

'We're fine,' he says quietly. 'We're going to be fine. There was a... heated exchange last night and I needed some time to process what had happened. Lizzie assumed the worst.'

'But you're both OK? You're still together?'

'We're still together.'

A tinny voice sounding through the tannoy blocks out most of Gigi's response, but he catches her final question tagged on at the end.

'Where _are_ you?'

'The airport. I'm leaving for the 'Investors of Innovation' conference in LA.'

'What? But you were sending Jacobs to that so you could be with Lizzie. William, you said you were OK.'

'And we are. We just need a little space.'

'Willam-'

'Gigi, I have to go. That was the final boarding call. I'll see you in a week.'

'_Willam-'_

'This was her idea, Gigi. Take it up with her. Love you.'

He checks his messages one last time before turning his phone early. A text has arrived during his conversation with Gigi.

**Know that I can make changes too. Know that you're worth the fight. And I love you x**

* * *

_I still want you to stay – _John Legend, 'Ordinary People'


	5. Flaws

_All of your flaws and all of my flaws  
They lie there hand in hand  
Ones we've inherited, ones that we learned – _Bastille, 'Flaws'

* * *

It's been a long week.

Monday shuffles towards Tuesday which drags its feet as it moves towards Wednesday, and Thursday feels like it will never start whereas Friday seems reluctant to end. Meeting after meeting. Circular conversations filled with sentences that could have stood to have at least fifteen words emitted. Radio silence from Lizzie.

It's been an unbelievably long week.

This 'space' had seemed like a brilliant idea last Sunday when he'd been feeling more than a little hurt by the words that fell out of Lizze's mouth. She had suggested he go to the Investors in Innovation meeting he'd dropped out of in favour of a week with her. That way, she'd explained, she'd be able to properly sort out her head. They weren't breaking up, she'd stressed, and they weren't on a break. She just knew that if he were near her, she'd be able to brush this under the carpet and she wanted to sort this out as much as he did. That was all.

He had suggested she didn't call him. If she really needed to be apart from him to figure this out and she really wanted to focus on solving this argument and she really thought it'd be best for him to be out of town while she did all this thinking about the future of _their_ relationship, he really believed it was necessary that she didn't call and distract him from the conference he didn't need to attend. That was all.

It was an act of bitterness that took even him by surprise.

And it has led to a painfully long week.

He's Darcy. Radio silence means radio silence. He's deleted Twitter from his phone and blocked the website on his browser.

Of course he can think about her. He can think about her angry condemnations when he is sat in a cripplingly dull seminar, he can think about her blotchy cheeks and running nose when he listens to some of the brightest minds in the business, he can think about her cold feet tickling his calves when he meets for lunch with old college friends, he can think about her quiet gasp when he kisses her throat, he can think about her breathy mumble when his fingers ghost her hips, he can think about her.

So at 5pm on Friday, just for a change, he does something decidedly unlike Darcy. He turns off his laptop, he slips the papers he'd been studying that afternoon into his briefcase and he says a firm but polite goodbye to the others he's been sitting with. He walks to the lockers provided and retrieves Lizzie's ridiculously small suitcase that he'd borrowed once he'd surrendered his fit of pique and realised that if she expected him gone in morning, he'd need to pack some clothes and leave. He smiles a goodbye to the receptionist and allows a harried-looking man through the revolving door before he exits his self-inflicted limbo and flags down a cab. He tips handsomely (you can afford to be extravagant when said limbo is coming to an end) and he waits impatiently for his flight to board.

He pretends to read some reports during the journey but really he thinks of Lizzie again until he has to clear his throat and actually read his report.

And then the plane circles the runway and his fingers drum the armrest and his feet beat out a tattoo until the woman next to him tuts.

And time is dragging again. The other passengers seem to dawdle. He fidgets behind them, looking for a spot, just a tiny spot, just big enough for him to overtake. The 'stand to the left' rule doesn't seem to exist on the escalators. He clears his throat and even nudges one man's shoulder but no-one takes the hint.

As he sees how slow the carousels are in luggage reclaim he finds a reason to be thankful for Lizzie's tiny suitcase. He pulls it behinds him and almost smiles when the arrivals lounge comes into view.

He picks up speed now. He needs to get a spot in the queue for the cabs before the more determined passengers find their luggage and swamp the queue, too.

He's so focused that he doesn't hear the first shout. Or the second if he's honest.

'DARCY!'

Disbelief makes him pause. Arms around his waist makes him stop.

He feels a kiss on his shoulder blade and he turns. Her arms loosen but don't let go, and he's facing her.

'It's been _such _a _long _week,' she breathes.

He doesn't let her say anything more.

* * *

_Let's finish what we've started_– Bastille, 'Flaws'

I don't normally shove music down your throat quite as viciously as this, but this song (**watch?v=F90Cw4l-8NY**), also by Bastille, also comes to mind when writing this section. Bastille as a relatively new band in the UK, but they remind me so much of Athlete's first couple of albums that I'm already hooked.


	6. Let's Not Wait

_Let's not wait  
Let's cross the river now  
We could sit for years  
staring at our fears –_ The Guillemots, 'Annie, Let's Not Wait'

* * *

'I think I should move in with you now.'

She is playing with his tie and fiddling with a button in the middle of his shirt. He has been lulled into a feeling of contentment that's almost sleep and it takes him a while to process her words.

'Hmmm?'

She reaches across him to reach the remote and pauses the TV. He loves that. Charlotte had messaged her half way through dinner to tell her The Grinch was showing that night. Never mind that she already owned the DVD _and_ the VHS, she'd immediately grabbed their plates and ushered him to the settee, shoving his plate into his hands without ceremony and grappling for the remote. They'd made short work of their pasta, the plates were now stacked on top of each other on the coffee table. He'd assumed she was engrossed in the movie and had drifted off, just happy to be sat there with her. Apparently she wasn't so engrossed.

'I should live here.'

He ran his fingers over her knuckles and pressed a kiss onto the tip of her nose.

'Why do you think that?'

'Well. It makes sense, doesn't it? My apartment, it's like a show house, isn't it? Apart from the massive pile of mail in the mailbox anyway. My clothes are here, my work is here,' she laughs before continuing, ' even my nail varnish is here!'

He kisses her again. 'I noticed _that_ months ago.'

She sighs, wriggles closer to him and his arm tightens around her waist. 'You're such a know it all.'

It's true: he predicted this a long time ago. He remembers the ride back from the airport after their massively overblown fight (they don't do things by halves). He had looked at her as she shouted at the cars that wouldn't let her switch lanes on the freeway and he had told her 'This is it, you know.'

She had grumbled some obscene generalisation about Audi drivers under her breath before asking 'What?'

'I'm not going anywhere now. And you're not going anywhere either. This is it for me. I'm happy to take it a day at a time. I know you have plans and I want to watch them all take off. But we'll be living together before the year's out.'

'It's July!' She had laughed incredulously at him. 'How can you think of December in this heat?'

He had simply smiled. 'You'll see.'

And she had.

When they'd returned to San Francisco a few days later, she'd unpacked her clothes into the wardrobes of her own apartment, but she was in his arms by dinner time. She hadn't gone home that night. Or the night after. In fact, he thinks with a smile, she hadn't gone back to her apartment until she'd run out of underwear six days after their return. And when she'd arrived back at his for movie night with Gigi, she had a larger than usual overnight bag. And when he'd gone into his room that night after one too many chick-flicks, he'd discovered he was one drawer less.

'You don't mind?' she'd whispered as she crawled into bed sometime after one am.

He'd kissed her into silence but was more loquacious in the morning, when his beaming smile made it more than crystal clear to her that rehoming his socks was the best way he could have spent his Sunday.

'Hey.' A finger in his gut brings him back to the settee. 'Will you stop celebrating your success and listen to me?' He can hear the smirk in her voice.

'Just wondering if I have room for your diploma and my 'Know It All' certificate in the study.'

He looks at her intently then. 'We could get a new place,' he suggests. 'Something that's just ours?'

She watches him closely, then struggles in his grip to kiss him. Her lips land on his chin. 'You're too good for me,' she tells him. 'We'll stay here. You don't want to move.'

He didn't. But he would. And he told her that.

'It's enough to know that you would,' she murmurs before capturing his lips in a searing kiss that only breaks when he has lost his tie and she's lost a shirt and they've rolled onto the remote and the Whos of Whoville are lamenting the loss of Christmas.

'Oh, turn it off,' she says, exasperated. 'I've got the damn thing on DVD anyway.'

'_Finally_,' he mutters, shutting off the TV and tossing the remote onto the floor.

He doesn't have time for more. Her lips are tugging his lips and her hands are pulling at his buttons in a determined fashion and his hands are stroking the small of her back and they're running out of breath and he's smiling in a dazed sort of way.

'What now?' she asks.

'My socks are going to have to move again, aren't they?'

* * *

_Oh just look at you  
with your ruffled hair.  
Oh I love you  
and that's all you need to know – _The Guillemots, 'Annie Let's Not Wait'


	7. With You

_Yeah, I don't like giving up  
Cause giving up is easy – _The Subways, 'With You'

* * *

It's been so frequent a thought that he's created his own cliché, but as he slides the last box into the van they'd hired, he can't help but think one more time, 'I never thought we'd get here.'

Really, he can amend this thought slightly: 'I never thought we'd get here so _quickly_.' Because here, he is (fifteen months after their pivotal moment, ten months after their first kiss), handing Lizzie his key to her apartment and watching her post them both into the mailbox before jumping into the cab of their moving van.

Lizzie's all for a bite to eat when they arrive at _their_ apartment.

'You got any ham? I'll make us some sandwiches.'

'Sounds good to me,' he replies with a smile and a kiss.

She waits for Gigi to punch in the code (out of habit, he's sure; she can't possibly have forgotten the code again) and he halts Fitz's progress by slapping his back and angling his head towards the van.

'I meant, we'd take a break!' Lizzie seems bemused when they appear in the dining room with the first of the boxes.

He looks up at her and shakes his head almost imperceptibly and heads out the door again.

He hears Fitz's barking laugh and Gigi telling Lizzie to 'work it out' before the front door shuts behind him.

* * *

That night, he finds more joy than he thinks is healthy in watching her take her pyjamas out of what was formerly his drawer for cycling gear. He enjoys pushing his clothes to the side with a firm hand so he can fit his trousers into the wardrobe. He feels a wave of domestic bliss settle over him as he suggests they buy another wardrobe. He finds it much easier to close his eyes knowing that time isn't really an issue anymore, knowing that Lizzie won't be saying, 'I need to head back' after dinner tomorrow.

That night he dreams of those days twelve months ago when a tiny shard of light made its way through the darkness he'd embraced. He sees the email from Fitz begging for leniency, he hears the briefing from HR that informed him of Lizzie's impending visit to Pemberley, he feels Gigi's determined hand push him into Lizzie's office.

He recalls the moment he realised that she was worth everything if he could just get her to see him.

Dawn tickles his skin, taunts his eyelids and he stirs. He rolls over onto his side and she is already awake. She squirms closer to him and he anchors her to him with his arm.

A kiss lands on his nose. Another lands on his cheek. Another on his eyebrow.

He chuckles and blinks to chase the last of sleep away. His thumb draws circle on her hip. They watch one another for a long, quiet moment and then she moves closer, resting her forehead on his chin.

* * *

They're halfway through trying to remember how they took her vanity table apart so they can have a clue as to how to put it back together when she tells him. He's just chastised her in tones so similar to her father's that she's breathless with laughter and he's getting more exasperated by the minute that she just can't hold still and he's completely taken aback when she sobers suddenly, meets his slightly grumpy gaze and says, 'I'm so glad you fought back. I can't think about what I would have missed.'

A smile dances on his lips and she breathes out another soft laugh. She begins to lean forward-

'Lizzie, I love you, but if you move and drop your end of this table, I'm giving it away.'

She stops. Laughs. Struggles to keep a straight face as he finally, _finally_, fits the last screw and the table stands on its own.

Then she jumps over the screwdrivers and the debris and lands on his chest and he doesn't even have chance to say 'Oof' because she's kissing him like it's the first time.

* * *

_My best days are with you_ – The Subways, 'With You'

* * *

**Hello readers! I've got a lot of silent readers with this story, and while I understand that sometimes, it's not convenient or even possible to leave a review, I'd really appreciate some feedback. This is the first thing I've written in well over a year. It's not brilliant, I know; in my opinion, it's flatlining. I'd love advice, constructive criticism, anything to help me improve.**

**Thanks,  
Cuckoo x**


	8. It's Wonderful

_It's glorious to feel that I'm a part of you, sweetheart  
To share your happiness  
It's marvellous how lovely love can be_ – Ella Fitzgerald, 'It's Wonderful'

* * *

The trip to Manchester comes at the worst possible time. He's been contemplating some pretty big news that has finally been confirmed, and he'd been looking for an opportunity to enlighten Lizzie. And now he was going to have to wait two weeks before they could sit down together without looking at their watches and thinking about all the chores that need to completed.

Sitting at the bottom of their bed, he enjoys the completely alien experience of watching someone else pack for him. He was a pretty nifty packer already. Fastidious is as fastidious does. He doesn't have the heart to tell her that he really is quite competent. He finds too much to smile about when she shows him the miniature toiletries she'd bought him on her lunch break. He likes seeing how a Bennet packs. A Bennet stuffs socks into shoes to save space. A Bennet makes an elaborate jigsaw out of oddly-sized items. A Darcy spreads clothes out. A Darcy just pays for extra luggage allowance.

She steps back from the suitcase, her hands resting lightly on her hips. Her mouth moves silently through a checklist and finally she looks at him.

She looks chaotic; spirals of hair dart out of her bun, her cheeks are slightly flushed from dashing around as though he were leaving in ten minutes, not ten hours; her nose is wrinkled in a futile effort to disguise a sniff.

He opens his arms and she looks down, looks up and moves jerkily to him, sitting in his lap and letting him cradle her.

'It's just two weeks,' she tells his shoulder. 'We managed when I lived at home, right?'

'Right,' he says as he smoothes her hair back. 'I'll get you lots of presents. A Dairy Milk bar, a picture of me in a phone booth, a five pound note, a stamp...'

He breaks off as she dissolves into giggling sobs and buries her face in his neck.

'Don't dare,' she mumbles. 'That's our to-do list, not yours.'

He chuckles. 'Alright then. I'll avoid anything quintessentially British. I won't even talk to them.'

'Don't blame your terrible social skills on me, Darcy.' A kiss lingers on his skin.

They sit there until his phone chirrups on the dressing table. She slips off his lap and goes back to his suitcase as he answers Gigi's call.

Rather than moving into the lounge as he usually would, he takes a seat in the armchair by the window and watches as Lizzie completes her usual night time rituals. After Gigi's fourth yawn, he wishes her a pleasant sleep and hangs up. Lizzie has already climbed into bed and is just looking at him.

He rushes through the necessary ablutions and is soon sliding under the covers and pulling Lizzie towards him. He breathes in the scent of her hair, she kisses his neck again, his hand rests on her waist, her hand caresses his chest.

'Goodnight,' she whispers.

One last kiss, then darkness ushers sleep in.

* * *

He leaves her sleeping. It's better this way. He's not sure who for. It's hard enough to see her arms reach out for him as he eases his way out of bed. He doesn't really want a tearful goodbye.

She texts him just before he boards his flight.

**Do you always leave before they wake? xx**

He snorts.

**Only if I think they'll cause a scene x**

She must have been sat with her phone in hand because her reply is almost instantaneous.

**I'll give you a scene xx**

**My flight's boarding. You have approximately thirteen days and nine hours to plot my downfall x**

The flight attendant calls out his row and he sends one last text to Gigi before switching his phone to Airplane mode and picking up his hand luggage.

* * *

He can't pretend the entire two weeks are entirely awful. He's never been to Manchester before and he's certainly never seen the remains of the industrial revolution on this scale before. Still, every place he visits, he finds another thing to add to the to-do list that he and Lizzie are compiling.

He knows she'd love the outdoor cinema in Spinningfields, and pretty much everything in the Northern Quarter fits Lizzie's idea of a good day out. He discovers gravy, and even manages to stomach a few mouthfuls of the most bizarre concoction of foodstuffs: cheese, chips and gravy. He's not saying it's something he'd do again, though he does think he'd appreciate the expression on Lizzie's face when she tries it.

One weekend, he takes the train to explore the Lake District, and though he knows he's surrounded by breathtaking scenery, his enjoyment is hampered by the fact that _Lizzie isn't here too_.

His final weekend he stays local. He is invited to the pub with some of the associates from Media City and though infinitely more social than a quiet weekend in a country hotel, it is also infinitely more preferable.

He's sent numerous post cards to both Gigi and Lizzie, and he's constantly firing emails back and forth to make up for those nights when he's just too tired to call. Still, he can't help but feel oddly disconnected. They share parts of their day, and he can picture situations of their little anecdotes with ease, but it doesn't feel the same as when he has shared the bulk of the day with them.

Some days, Lizzie sounds low. Countless enquiries about her health, her day, her mood are gently rebuffed with the standard 'It's nothing you can't fix when you're back'. While flattering, it's hardly useful to him.

As his final day approaches, he begins to pack, the Darcy way. He calls the airline, pays for extra luggage allowance and then goes into the city centre to buy a new suitcase and a wild mix of tacky and tasteful gifts.

Wednesday dawns grey, wet and glorious. He checks out with a smile on his face, tips a bemused cabbie who hesitantly explains that the British don't tip _that_ much, and wheels his two suitcases to the check-in desk.

He buys a massive Toblerone in duty free, as per Fitz's instructions, finds his departure lounge, sends his now routine countdown text to Lizzie, disconnects his phone from the network and settles down to wait for his turn to board.

* * *

The flight is quicker going back over the Atlantic. Before he knows it, he's watching the same bag rotate on the carousel in Luggage Reclaim and swallowing vague feelings of panic that his cases have gone missing.

Lizzie looks wan when they finally spot one another in Arrivals. He scrutinises her, taking in her paler than normal skin, her jeans that are sporting a new belt and the tiredness that even her smile can't quite cover. She clings to him when he reaches her, and he feels her tremble slightly.

'Lizzie,' he says, half in welcome, half in reassurance. His hand rubs the small of her back gently and she squeezes him tighter.

'Hey,' he murmurs, loosening his hold in the hopes of encouraging her to let him go.

She pulls back just barely, enough for him to press a chaste kiss to her lips. Her eyes are closed for much longer than they usually are.

'Two weeks is a long time, isn't it?' he says as he pulls her into him again.

'You have no idea.' Her voice is shaky.

'Is this the scene you were promising?'

A shocked burst of laughter slips from her. 'Let's just go home before I make good on my threat.'

He keeps finding excuses to touch her as she drives home. Her hand resting on the gearstick gives him a reason to stroke her knuckles, a glance at his face when they stop at the lights allows him to brush the hair off her face, sliding the car into 'park' and unbuckling her seatbelt lets him lean over and kiss her properly.

She sits on the bed this time as he unpacks in the Darcy way. Clothes have been separated into 'suitable for one more wear' and 'laundry'. He lifts out the towel that divides the two sections of his suitcase and meticulously folds and hangs up his clean clothes.

Lizzie can't help but laugh. 'I honestly thought the second suitcase was for laundry.'

'Don't be ridiculous.'

They don't talk much as he unpacks. Once he's stored the suitcases under the stairs with their other luggage, he gathers her back into his arms in a position reminiscent of fourteen days ago, and she leans her head on his shoulder.

'Gigi and Fitz'll be round for dinner tomorrow,' Lizzie tells him as his fingers draw patterns on her upper arm.

'How uncharacteristically considerate of them.'

She chuckles a little uncertainly. 'I told them I wouldn't let them in if they came round tonight.'

He laughs at that and kisses her forehead. 'I'm glad.'

'You tired?'

He shakes his head. 'It's only 9pm in the UK.'

'You want some lunch then?'

They wander into the lounge via the kitchen to pick up some take-out menus.

'I've had such a craving for Thai food,' he tells her as they settle on the settee.

She can't seem to help the disbelieving snort. 'You're on your own there, my friend.' She tosses him the menu.

* * *

The afternoon grows quieter and quieter. He isn't really good for much since his body clock is telling him it's now midnight and his wrist watch is telling him it's 4pm. He perseveres, determined to make it to at least 9pm before he calls it a day. Lizzie lies on the settee as close to him as she can get. They've put a film on just for background noise, and though he makes some attempt at following it, she has her back to the screen and is drawing circles around the buttons on his shirt.

After a particularly big sigh, he turns off the TV, lifts her chin with a gentle finger and says, 'Alright. You've had something on your mind since last Tuesday. I'm back now, so let me fix whatever you need fixing.'

She ducks her head but his finger is unrelenting in its strength and she is soon facing his eyes again. She opens her mouth and closes it. She wriggles closer and his arms encircle her.

'I'm pregnant,' she tells the buttons of his shirt.

'I know,' he tells her hair.

* * *

_It's glorious  
It's marvellous  
Oh darling it's wonderful_ – Ella Fitzgerald, 'It's Wonderful'


	9. The Scientist

_Nobody said it was easy_ – Coldplay, 'The Scientist'

* * *

**Monday morning**

'Bennet.'

She stands on unsteady legs and he gets up too. Her hand trembles and he catches it, embracing it with a warm, steady grip.

'Take a seat,' the doctor smiles after he's shaken our hands and we've exchanged pleasantries. 'How can I help you?'

'I'm pregnant,' Lizzie blurts out, and he bites his lip to hold in an affectionate laugh.

'I see.' And it's clear that he does. His voice is reassuring and professional as he asks Lizzie to roll up her sleeve so he can take some blood for a formal test.

'When was your last cycle?'

'I... er...' she looks across at him helplessly and he steps in.

'About six weeks ago.'

The doctor raises an eyebrow in his direction.

* * *

**Wednesday afternoon**

'_Six weeks_?' she exclaims weakly. 'How do you know and I don't?'

'Because you get really fidgety and hot. I never sleep well when you have a period.'

'Oh, _I'm sorry._'

'Lizzie,' he says mildly.

'I'm sorry,' she says, more sincerely now. She rubs her eyebrows in a Jane-like fashion. 'It's just a little disorienting to realise your boyfriend knows more about your body than you do. Why didn't you say anything?'

'Well,' he says reasonably and she sighs in resigned amusement, 'I was away the weekend of your first missed period so I wasn't entirely sure that you had missed it. It was only in the run up to your next period that I realised you hadn't bought anything and that made me think again. But then of course, just after your second missed period, I had to go to Manchester and I couldn't exactly tell you you were pregnant and then leave the country could I? I know my social skills are below par, but even I know that could be viewed as a faux-pas.'

'A faux-pas,' she repeats with a small laugh.

* * *

**Monday morning**

The blood test is confirmation of their informed suspicion and he glances over anxiously at Lizzie to see how she feels now that the definitely maybe is now a definitely. She looks composed but her hand is gripping his tightly.

'Of course, we can take an educated guess at the due date if you're confident about the dates of your period. But we'll have a much clearer idea after your scan.'

He digests this information slowly, and she waits for him to process it before she responds.

Their silence, however, gives out a different message.

'If you don't want to continue with the pregnancy, we can discuss those options, too,' the doctor says delicately.

His mouth drops open. He hasn't even considered this.

He turns to Lizzie before he can register he's moved, suddenly worried that they've been misunderstanding each other again.

She meets his gaze calmly, squeezes his hand and says in an assured voice, 'We want this baby.'

* * *

**Friday evening**

'Christ, what an unbelievably _stupid_ thing to do!' she moans half way through dinner.

'No,' he shakes his head. 'You had to remove her from the team. If she creates a poisonous atmosphere, that will hinder creativity.'

'Not that,' she says sharply. 'This.' She gestures to her stomach with her fork and he flinches slightly.

She closes her eyes and groans. 'God. I had such an amazing day at work. I'm finally making progress, I'm so close to our first major launch, I'm feeling like I actually know what I'm doing and then I let my boyfriend knock me up because I was feeling frisky at the condo and I couldn't be bothered to run down to the pharmacy for condoms. Who has unprotected sex these days? _Stupid!'_

He places his cutlery down neatly on his plate, his appetite gone.

'I'm sorry,' he murmurs lowly.

'Don't apologise.'

He picks up his plate and scrapes the remains of his dinner into the bin before loading it into the dishwasher.

'I don't know what else I can say.'

He heads to the bedroom and has barely sat down in the armchair before she arrives. She slides into his lap, entwines him in her arms and kisses him fiercely.

'What's really stupid,' she says at last, 'is making a man as beautiful, as caring, as devoted as you feel like you've made a mistake.'

She smoothes his hair back and kisses his forehead. 'I love you,' she says firmly. She takes his hand and rests it on her abdomen. 'And I'll love whoever is in here.'

He kisses her desperately and she lets him. They break apart, their noses touch.

'And I'll always speak without thinking.'

He smiles timidly and she kisses him again.

'Come and share the rest of my dinner,' she tells him.

So they get up and go back to the dining room.

* * *

**Monday morning  
**

They leave the doctors with pamphlets and phone numbers and instructions. As they drive home, he asks her, 'Are you alright, Lizzie?'

She laughs quietly. 'A little overwhelmed. Who knew there was so much to know about a human the size of a bean?'

He chuckles. 'We can just take it a step at a time. Let's deal with the first three months. And then we can get ahead of ourselves a little.'

Another laugh, 'You're in your element! All this information to sort and categorise. All the research – best maternity wards, safest pram, most reliable family car, school most likely to help baby Darcy reach the Ivy Leagues...'

He can't help it. He pulls into a side street and turns to her. He kisses her until she can't kiss him back anymore because her smile is too big. He beams back.

* * *

**Sunday night**

'What if we turn up tomorrow and the doctor takes the test and we're wrong?'

'I've heard of false negatives. I haven't heard of false positives.'

'You've heard... As though you've researched pregnancy tests...' she lifts her head off the pillow to study his nonchalant expression in the gloom of the bedroom.

'You've researched pregnancy tests!' she snorts.

'Only the brand you used,' he says defensively.

She giggles and leans down to kiss him. Her hair tickles his ears.

He holds her close to him and her head settles in the cradle of his shoulder. He twists slightly to turn out the light and they lie there quietly. His thumb strokes her abdomen again. Ever since she had taken his hand and placed it squarely over her womb, he had delighted in touching her here again and again and again.

Her hand traces his thumb.

'What would you like?'

He inhales.

'I'd like a boy, I think,' she rushes on before he can answer her. 'I've had enough of girls. I'd love a boy with your hair and my chin.'

'Why is your chin superior to my chin?'

'Because my chin doesn't retreat at the first sign of trouble.'

He laughs.

'How about you?'

He's quiet. He splays his whole hand over her stomach and she sighs softly.

'I just want a baby,' he says into the stillness of the room.

* * *

_Questions of science, science and progress  
Do not speak as loud as my heart_ – Coldplay, 'The Scientist'


	10. Run

_I know we'll make it anywhere_ – Snow Patrol, 'Run'

* * *

The hardest thing was telling Gigi.

Naive, romantic Gigi with her idealised view of the world, who still keeps her brother on his pedestal even after the spring of 2012.

'So when will you get married?' she'd asked, her eyes sparkling and her next question just desperate to roll out.

'Well,' Lizzie had said somewhat nervously. She'd scratched her upper arm. 'After the baby's born, I guess.'

Gigi had snorted and looked over at him, as though waiting patiently for him to propose.

'We've got more than enough on our plates, Gigi,' he'd said. 'Lizzie has to prepare her company for her extended leave, she's got to make sure everything will run smoothly without her, and in between all that, we have to arrange things at home. It just isn't feasible to organise a wedding in addition to all our other responsibilities.'

'Oh,' she'd said weakly before pasting a smile back on her face and hugging Lizzie.

Later, after they'd eaten and Lizzie had gone for a bath, he and Gigi had moved into the lounge to listen to an album he wanted to recommend to her. After about half an hour, Gigi had paused the song they'd been listening to and turned to him determinedly.

'You should get married, William. You know you should get married.'

'We will get married. When the baby's here and Lizzie's business has settled and she feels she can juggle motherhood and a career, we'll start thinking of a date.'

'Oh, come on, Will. Is this really what you want? What would dad make of this? You get married first. Everyone knows this.'

He had been quiet for a painful moment.

'I don't live for everyone,' he'd eventually said in a low voice. 'We're not going to pretend that we'd planned this, but now that it has, we're not getting married because 'everyone' wants us to. You're going to be an aunt, Gigi. Why can't you fixate on that?'

Gigi had left before Lizzie appeared, though their farewell had been more amicable than he'd expected. Still, he felt flat. Gigi was his only family left and he'd expected a much more demonstrative feeling of joy from her. She had been excited at first. But then she had realised that Lizzie's fourth finger on her left hand was bare and the questions had started.

Lizzie had watched quietly as he prepared for bed that evening. At last, he sat down on his side of the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. She had clambered over the bed cover to reach him. Her legs curled around his side, her chin rested on his shoulder and her lips kissed the side of his neck.

'I know,' she'd said. 'I heard.'

He had heaved a sigh before leaning back into her body and welcoming her arms around him.

And now here he was halfway through a typically chaotic and _busy_ Sunday dinner at the Bennets, wondering why Gigi hadn't been more like them.

Certainly, they'd been shocked. Lizzie's father had mouthed the announcement several times before he seemed to process it, and it was as though her mother had never heard of a couple having a baby before. But then laughs and congratulations had echoed through the den and Lizzie was lost in a tangle of hugs and he was being teased by her father and conversation turned to the christening gown that five generations of Bennets had worn and how Jane was sure she'd seen it in the back of her parents' wardrobe and Lydia was asking for her favourite pair of Lizzie's pumps before her feet swelled up.

'Oh, no!' Mrs Bennet's voice brings him back to the moment. 'I understand honey. We want your wedding to be magnificent.'

Lizzie jabs his thigh with her finger and he smiles at her father. To say their daughters are stunned would be an understatement of gargantuan proportions.

'Besides,' she adds in a conspiratorial tone, 'you don't get much more committed than having a child together, do you?'

And here is the thought that had danced around in his head since Gigi's startling outburst, always just out of reach. He wasn't going anywhere. Lizzie wasn't going anywhere. People walked away from marriage every day. This connection they shared, his commitment to her, was tangible. They would always have this child. They would always care for, worry about, lose sleep over, argue about, fight for, _love_ this child.

He catches Lizzie's poking finger, swallows her entire hand with his grasp and smiles at her in the most unguarded moment he thinks he's experienced in anyone else's company.

When he looks away from her, he knows that he would usually be flustered by the awkwardly obvious burst of conversation that implies the table had paused to watch the two of them, but Lizzie's mother has struck a chord with him. They know how much he loves Lizzie, and it isn't as embarrassing or as intrusive as he'd thought it would be.

* * *

_Even if you cannot hear my voice  
I'll be right beside you dear _– Snow Patrol, 'Run'

I don't how big this song was in other countries, but here it was pretty big. And then Leona Lewis wailed all over it and ruined it for me for a while. This version (**watch?v=fjew4xT1OKA**) is stripped back and when I first heard it a few years ago, it really made me listen to the lyrcis. Anyway, I thought I'd share it because it's even better than the single released by Snow Patrol originally.

Cuckoo x


	11. Wonderwall

_There are many things that I would like to say to you  
But I don't know how_ – Oasis, 'Wonderwall'

* * *

There's a room in his house that's pale green. The oak furniture matches the oak floorboards and there's a softly coloured blind lined with black out fabric covering the window. The brand new chest of drawers is filled with baby grows and nappies. A blanket waits patiently at the bottom of the cot, and the old rocking chair from his childhood has appeared and is polished up to its former glory. Where there once were tampons and pain killers in the medicine cupboard there is now a bottle of vitamins formulated especially for pregnancy. In the kitchen, there's a shelf dedicated to bottles. Somewhere in his home office, there is a box filled with sterilising equipment that is currently being used as a shelf.

Somewhere in the garden is his girlfriend who is currently five months pregnant.

No-one can tell yet. Obviously they know. There was the somewhat disastrous evening with Gigi followed by the celebratory meal with the Bennets once the three month scan had taken place and the first trimester was done with. But unless you were gazing at the naked form of Lizzie, you would struggle to detect a bump.

He finds he quite likes that idea. That only he really knows. He finds that since they discovered that this baby existed, the number of things that he can't quite bring himself to say to Lizzie has trebled. He likes the idea that only he can touch her stomach. He likes the idea that she is suddenly desperate to touch him whenever ever she can, too. He likes that they have redecorated a room but aren't showing anyone. He likes having a box full of sterilising equipment in his home office.

He has been leaning against the doorframe of his child's nursery for at least ten minutes, watching sunbeams cast shadows on the walls. He tries to imagine what the room will look like when there's somebody in the cot. He tries to imagine himself changing a diaper.

A hand tickles his abdomen and Lizzie wriggles her way under his arm.

'Gigi just left.'

'Oh.'

Things have been tense for a few weeks and he feels a little hurt that she came and went without looking for him.

'I think she felt more awkward than vindictive,' Lizzie explains, trying to soothe away the inadvertent insult.

He sighs and presses Lizzie closer to him. She kisses his chest.

* * *

'At least propose.'

'Why?'

'_Why? _Because she's pregnant with your child, perhaps?'

'I don't need to propose because Lizzie is pregnant, Gigi. I need to propose when I have every intention of marrying her in the immediate future. And as we have already decided not to marry in the immediate future, I don't need to propose.'

'I can't believe my brother would be so... so..'

He snaps before she can say something he doesn't want to have to forget.

'Gigi, you helped us get together but you are not in this relationship. We will not do as you ask. We will do what is best for us, and you are not involved in the decision process.'

Lizzie walks into the room in a determined manner. She purposefully places herself right in the middle of the two and takes his hand.

'Why do we need to get married?' she asks.

Gigi can't answer. She stands up and shakes her head and says, 'I just expected more.'

He doesn't hear from her for two weeks.

* * *

'Do you want pasta for dinner?' She slips away from him but he tugs her back.

'I'll cook.'

'Mr 21st Century!' she teases as she leans up for another kiss.

He chuckles at her and whispers 'Don't push your luck' against her lips before they head towards the kitchen.

'I think I'll go to the cemetery tomorrow,' he says as she loads the dishwasher and he pours them a glass of juice.

She just looks at him and gives a brief, knowledgeable smile.

* * *

'Hi.'

He turns. 'Gigi,' he replies, moving in for a hug.

She clings to him. 'I'm such an idiot.'

He kisses her forehead and shakes his head.

'Why, Gigi?'

'I just thought you wouldn't be a family. And you deserve a family at last.'

Another shake of the head. 'And what's changed your mind?'

'I called at the house again. Lizzie showed me the nursery.'

'Ah.'

'I saw the rocking chair,' she whispers.

'Ah.'

'I was a little fixated on the marriage certificate and I forgot about the rest. I forgot about the holidays and the trips to the library and the fights at the beach and the bedtime stories in the rocking chair.'

They turn together to look down at the gravestone.

'You're always welcome to come round for the bedtime stories, Gigi.'

* * *

He doesn't really try to sneak up on her when he sees her in the garden again. She twists her upper body slightly to smile as he approaches her.

'Gigi found you then?'

'You're such a know-it-all,' he says before kissing her.

She smiles into the kiss, takes his hand from her back and leads it round to her stomach. When he feels the first kick, he wrenches his lips from hers.

When he feels the second kick, his kiss is all the more ardent.

* * *

_I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now_ – Oasis, 'Wonderwall'

Apologies for the unusually long gap between updates. In my shaky defence, I offer the excuse that the north of England is currently enjoying a heatwave with temperatures reaching the dizzying heights of 26C (78F).


	12. Make This Go On Forever

_I can only give you everything I've got_- Snow Patrol, 'Make this go on forever'

* * *

'Maybe this is just the hormones speaking.'

'Maybe I've finally had my fill of your overbearing attitude.'

'Lizzie,' he says, exasperated.

'No, Will,' she says, pushing her hair out of her face in an impatient way. 'Don't '_Lizzie_' me when you know I'm right.'

One more month. That's become his mantra. Just one more month and then the baby will be here and Lizzie will be calmer and he'll be more in control.

'I just don't think it's a good idea, Lizzie.'

'I want to go home.'

He tries to shrug the unintentional insult off, tries to ignore the hurt he feels when Lizzie admits that her home isn't with him.

'We can invite your parents here, Lizzie. I've tried to get out of these meetings but I can't, and I don't want you to drive all that way, not so close to the end. You know it's not safe.'

'I am _sick_ of you making every decision for me. You don't let me do anything. Isn't it enough I've quit my job?'

He sits down heavily. 'You're on maternity leave.'

'I'm not doing anything I want.'

'You're throwing a tantrum.'

She doesn't quite slam the door but he knows she would have done if he hadn't have accused her of acting childishly. He can hear each footstep resound on the floorboards above but he rubs his forehead and heaves himself out of the chair. He tidies away the remains of their lunch and sighs. He's weary. So weary.

_One more month._

Really, she's only been like this for the past five weeks or so, not long in the grand scheme of things. The baby's big apparently. And the strain is beginning to have a noticeable effect on her. His was already worried about how little weight she'd gained; it seems to be all bump. Countless reassurances from the gynecologist has calmed him down on this front, but he has only transferred his worries to the birth. A big baby and a small mother spells difficulties to him.

He's read every single book he can get his hand on in an attempt to prepare himself for what's coming. And yes, Lizzie's right, he may be a little overbearing. He only means to share this information with her but he can't get the tone right and always ends up sounding like he's lecturing her instead. No wonder she's sick of him. He slides the last plate into the cupboard and leans against the worktop, dragging his hands through his hair.

'Will?'

He closes his eyes. He's just so tired. And she only ever seems to snap at him now. He doesn't even know what he can have done when they're on separate floors. Maybe she found the baby books and wants to shout at him for interfering in her birth plan.

'Will?' Still shrill.

'What?' he murmurs into his chest.

He pushes himself off the work surface and allows himself one more sigh before moving to the stairs.

'Will!'

'What?' he says, allowing some of his frustration to show in his voice. 'I'm coming, alright? I'm here.'

'Will.' Relieved now, and sounding small, Lizzie appears at the top of the stairs.

'What?' he asks, gently now.

'Something's wrong.' She clutches her stomach until he reaches her and then she clutches him.

'It's Braxton Hicks, surely,' he says as he massages her swollen abdomen.

'No, Will.' She moves his hand down towards her crotch. Their hands feel damp. His eyes meet her.

'But there's one more month,' she whimpers, hiding her face in his shoulder.

'Apparently not,' he says quietly, gripping her waist.

She chuckles weakly. 'I won't drive to my parents', Will.'

'I think that's a good decision to have made in the circumstances. Take a seat while I get the bags ready,OK.'

She nods, a tremor rocking her frame.

He kisses her forehead and caresses her stomach and leads her to their bedroom.

* * *

'Hold on, Elizabeth.' The midwife squeezes her foot lightly. 'Don't push now.' She looks up and smiles. 'Take a minute, OK?'

She turns to the trainee who is shadowing her and whispers something. He uses the brief pause to press another kiss onto her damp brow.

'God, Will. I can't keep doing this for much longer.'

'I'm so proud of you.'

Her head drops sideways to lean on his and he lets her rest there for a while before gently easing her head upright again to wipe her forehead with the cloth their midwife had pushed into his hand several hours ago.

The trainee stands, smiles, and leaves and the midwife takes her place at the bottom of the bed.

'Elizabeth,' she says in a low, calming voice. 'We're just going to ask a doctor to come and check on your progress-'

He can't really hear much else. She was doing well. The midwife had told them that only an hour ago. Everything is progressing as expected, that's what she'd said. Lizzie's tight grasp on his hand drags him back to the moment.

'The baby isn't in any rush, and we're concerned about you.'

'I'm fine,' she says quickly.

'I don't understand,' he says slowly.

'It's just a precaution. I want the doctor to check on Lizzie for my own peace of mind. There's nothing to worry about yet.'

_Yet_. He almost repeats this word, but instead squeezes Lizzie's hand.

Another contraction wracks her body and she can't help but push.

'Good, Elizabeth. Good. Keep pushing. Well done!'

Her lips are white and her eyes are closed and all he can do is hold her hand.

* * *

It's another hour before the doctor decides they need to intervene. Forceps. She is shaking her head tiredly.

'Can't we stick to the plan?'

'Lizzie,' he murmurs. 'Let's just have a baby.'

He catches the tears and sweat on her face and she looks at him desperately.

'Nothing ever goes to plan.'

And then, after hours and hours of pain and uncertainty and flashes of fear, things happen too fast.

And suddenly, there's a soft cry that he's never heard before and Lizzie is laughing and sobbing and stretching her arms out.

There were six people in the room and now there are seven. He looks down at Lizzie, at their child nestled on her chest, a sense of smallness taking over him as it never has before. She looks up at him and smiles. Her fingers stroke his cheek and he leans forward. He can't take his eyes off their baby. He feels her lips in his hair and he turns to her.

'He looks just like his daddy,' she whispers. He can only shake his head mutely before the baby captures their attention again and they watch together as he moves instinctively towards her breast and his hands clasp and unclasp the air.

'Let's get your son cleaned up, Elizabeth. Your job isn't quite done.'

A midwife swoops in to claim his son and he can't help but resent the fact that so many strangers have held his child before he has.

'Go,' Lizzie says with a weak laugh. 'I really don't want you to see this.'

He kisses her hand and follows their child, watching as he is carefully cleaned and weighed.

'Do you want a cuddle, dad?' the midwife asks as she moves towards him with his freshly bundled son.

He tries to make a note of how she arranges his arms and settles the baby into his hold, but the warmth and the weight and the reality of what Lizzie has just done is too much to ignore.

The doctor's voice, shrill, insistent, breaks the moment. The midwives hurry past him towards the bed.

'Page the theatre. We'll be there in two minutes.'

'What? What's happening?' he starts towards Lizzie, but a hand on his arm halts his movement.

'Will, Lizzie is haemorrhaging. We need to take her to surgery. She needs you to stay here with your son. We'll do everything we can.'

'Will?'

He pulls his arm free and moves to her bedside. His arms are trembling and the baby quivers.

'Will.' She leans up. He leans down. They kiss and kiss again. When they pull apart, her forehead rests on his for a brief moment before she is desperately kissing their child.

'Lizzie,' he murmurs. 'You'll be OK. We'll be right here waiting.'

One more kiss.

'We'll keep you updated, Mr Darcy.'

And then she's gone.

The baby wriggles slightly. The midwife smiles reassuringly. He sits and he waits.

* * *

_The final word in the final sentence you ever uttered to me was love_ - Snow Patrol, 'Make this go on forever'


	13. Chances

_It's all about your cries and kisses_ – Athlete, 'Chances'

* * *

The midwife, Lois, he thinks she said her name was, has brought an incubator into their room and keeps trying to persuade him to put his son down. He finds it very easy to say no, and, finally tiring of the thankless job, she leaves him for a moment.

He studies the now sleeping child wrapped in his arms. There's a dark shock of hair that's definitely his, a slender looking nose that's definitely hers and a dimple in his chin that's all his own.

'Your mom is going to be pleased to see you,' he whispers, pressing his lips against his son's hair. 'You've been driving her crazy recently, you know? I hope you're going to calm down a little now you're in the big wide world.'

Hands wriggle and grasp at air and he moves a finger to smooth the small knuckles. The baby's mouth opens but no sound emerges. Instead, he smacks his lips together as though he has just enjoyed a particularly good meal.

He sits down heavily, still cradling the child.

_I can't do this alone._

'I can't do this alone,' he says aloud.

'Who's saying we're expecting you to?' Lois is back. She clucks around him in a motherly way. 'Come on now, Baby Darcy is tired and so are you. Let's get both of you some rest.'

'I couldn't possibly sleep.'

'You're certainly not going to relax with a baby in your arms, flinching every time he moves,' she says with a small smile and a laugh. 'Come on, let him rest.'

She scoops his son out of his arms effortlessly and say, 'Time for your first lesson, dad. Come and watch me settle him.'

He stands over the incubator, filing every procedure away carefully for future reference.

'It's not every dad that can teach mom what to do,' Lois chuckles.

'I will get to teach her then?' The words are out before he can stop them.

'Oh, honey.'

She checks the baby one last time and then takes him by the arm and leads him to the chairs next to the incubator.

'Has no-one spoken to you?' She doesn't bother to wait for an answer. 'Haemorrhages are quite common,' she explains in a soft tone. 'The doctors know what they're doing. I'll make sure someone keeps you more updated from now on.'

She pats his arm reassuringly.

'Now, rest.'

She leaves again, and he settles down into the chair, his eyes fixed firmly on their child.

'You know,' he says, 'We didn't really agree on a name for you. Your mom, she's all for tradition. I think I see where she's coming from now that we've met.'

His eyes flicker and he widens them, fighting sleep off.

'She's going to be insufferably smug when I tell her.'

His eyes close again.

* * *

His eyes open.

There is an unfamiliar noise. He looks at the empty incubator and jolts upright.

'You're awake.'

Their son is in her arms and he's feeding timidly. Lois is stood by the bed, gently stroking his cheek from time to time, encouraging him.

'Lizzie,' he breathes.

'When Lois told me what you'd been like while I was in surgery, I figured I should let you sleep.'

'You should have woken me.'

She smiles at him and he picks up the chair to carry it closer to the bed. When he is resettled, he leans forward to caress their child's soft smattering of hair and kiss her exposed shoulder.

'You're OK?'

'I'm extremely sore and extremely tired and extremely happy.'

'You're OK.'

* * *

_I need some more of you to take me over – _Athlete , 'Chances'


	14. So Much

_There's so much of you in everything I do _– Newton Faulkner, 'So Much'

* * *

His son grips his finger. The sun dances and winks through the slanted blinds. Translucent eyelids flicker with unseen dreams and small lungs exhale in what he hopes is contentment. His foot makes contact with the solid oak floor and he pushes them off firmly, the rocking chair creaking its soundtrack to their Sunday morning. He's not sure how long he's been sat here, long enough for the birds to wake up and fall asleep again anyway.

Ben wriggles slightly and he adjusts his hold, catching himself halfway through the natural instinct and smiling. He rocks gently. And he thinks of the last man to sit in this chair and rock his child.

Would he be proud? The doubts he does his best to push to one side clamour for pole position and he can't be certain. He knows he would have been proud of his grandson, and he knows that he would have loved Lizzie. He would have been proud that his own son had faced up to some brutal home truths and pushed himself to be better. But would his father have been disappointed that he hadn't married Lizzie the minute Ben became a possibility?

William Darcy had been a reasonable man. He would have appreciated the fact that things were much different, that it was no longer 1984. He would have known that his son took his responsibilities seriously, and he would have realised that just because they weren't married yet didn't mean they wouldn't be married one day. He would have probably guessed it was only a matter of time.

And his mother. She would have been delighted. That her acutely shy son who had struggled through just about every social situation possible could have found happiness with such an extroverted, loving woman would have pleased her beyond words. That her son now had a son of his own to share in the same passions and interests that they had once shared would have been a source of endless joy.

He wasn't usually sentimental. Romantic, yes (secretly and with only Lizzie as a witness), eloquent (when under pressure or when not strictly sober), but sentimentality wasn't something he indulged in regularly.

He took the opportunity now. He pretended that today was the day he was introducing Ben to _all_ his grandparents. He pretended that his mother let out that noise that was half sob, half laughter as she scooped Ben out of his arms and held him close to her heart. He pretended that his father, standing behind her, rubbed Ben's cheek with his forefinger before kissing Lizzie's hand gallantly and slapping his son on the back. He pretended that while his mother and Lizzie's mother cooed over Ben and tried to spot family resemblances, his father conjured a bottle of his finest whiskey and poured out three healthy measures for himself, his son and Lizzie's father. He pretended that his father was momentarily lost for words as he proposed a toast to the newest Darcy.

He stopped pretending because suddenly it hurt to breathe.

A squeaking cry alerts him to the fact that Ben was awake and he distracts himself by pretending that Ben can focus on his silly sentimental father. He bends his head to kiss his son delicately.

'What are you boys doing? I thought you were getting Ben up.'

Lizzie appears, dressed and trying her best to look stern. 'If this is your idea of helping me with the baby, I think I'll get him dressed in future.'

'We were considering his options. Which of the many sleep suits that his Granny sent him should he wear today?'

'Uh-huh.'

He raises an eyebrow at her disbelieving tone. She laughs and kisses it before smoothing his hair back and holding her arms out for Ben.

'Go and have a shower. I want you ready in fifteen minutes, Darcy.'

He takes advantage of her full hands by capturing her lips in a lingering kiss.

* * *

'When is Gigi coming?' he finally thinks to ask as they take turns to eat their breakfast. He is currently burping Ben while Lizzie eats a slice of toast at high speed.

'Any minute,' was all the reply he got.

Sure enough, by the time they'd loaded the dishwasher Gigi had appeared with a bunch of irises and a bottle of water.

'Ready?'

'Ready,' he nods.

He slips Ben into his carry cot and lifts it slowly, reaching for Gigi's hand. She squeezes tight.

'Come on then,' Lizzie says lightly.

* * *

They stand there, in the sunshine, and Ben meets his paternal grandparents. He lifts the baby out of the carry cot and walks to the gravestone. He squats down and supports his weight with one hand on the grass. It's still damp with dew.

Light glints off the writing etched on the stone.

_Here rests  
William Gregory Darcy  
June 1954 – May 2005  
and his beloved wife, Anne Margaret Darcy  
October 1958 – May 2005_

_Forever missed, forever cherished, forever loved._

'Mom, Dad, meet William Bennet Darcy. Ben, meet Nan and Grandpa.'

Lizzie rests a hand on his shoulder and Gigi crouches down next to him and stretches a finger out to touch the engraved names. And Ben gurgles and squirms and he doesn't feel like he has to pretend.

* * *

_It's one thing time will not erase  
My life would not have been the same_ – Newton Faulkner, 'So Much'

Thank you so much to all those who have read, favourited, followed and reviewed this story. I've really appreciated your support :) This story has gone as far as it can, but for those who are interested, I will begin posting a few of Lizzie's songs in the next few days.  
Thanks again,  
Cuckoo x


End file.
